


Creed of the Commander

by TheSSClexa



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types, The 100 (TV)
Genre: ACO AU, Assassin's Creed Odyssey - Freeform, Assassin's Creed Odyssey AU, Clexa, Clexa Week, Clexa Week 2019, Day 7, F/F, Free day, Greek AU, Greek Mythology AU, Xena feels, assassin!lexa, no gameplay knowledge necessary, princess!clarke
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2019-11-08 12:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17981231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheSSClexa/pseuds/TheSSClexa
Summary: The shores of Arkadia lay ahead; this will be Lexa's first time in Arkadia and she's looking forward to exploring the rich Athenian lands. Life as a mercenary has served her well, there's always people to be killed, and therefore, money to be made. Little does she realize that she will be picking up a contract that will change the course of her life forever.





	1. Simple Sell Sword

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Clexaweek 2019! 
> 
> This is a cross fic between the game, Assassin's Creed Odyssey and The 100. While ACO is tagged, all characters are from The 100 and no gameplay background or knowledge is needed. This was pretty much an excuse for me to throw around a bunch of Greek god names. 
> 
> For those who have or are playing ACO **GAME SPOILER ALERT**. I do borrow some of the game's themes and take bits and pieces of the main storyline, so please be aware.

The shores of Arkadia lay ahead. Outlined are its mountains behind a thin layer of fog; dawn is soon to break. And here, there is money to be made. The war between the Spartans and Athenians has boded well for Lexa. She is a mercenary, a sell-sword, who cares less about sides and more about payment. Though known to be ruthless, she is not heartless, quick to aid a civilian, bystander, or those who otherwise cannot help themselves and require protection.

 

“Ready for docking!” Lexa shouts from the helm.

 

“Yes, Commander!”

 

Her trusty crew raises the sail, retract the oars, and ready the lines, preparing the trireme vessel for mooring. She has never been to Arkadia, a land of Athenian rule and known for its wealth. Evidence of the land’s riches exist in every direction from architectural feats to fine jewelry and craftsmanship, Lexa expects to make out well in Arkadia. Immediately departing her vessel, she checks the public message board for a contract.

 

  * BOUNTY ON SPARTAN SOLDIER
  * NEED THE AID OF A TRUSTWORTHY SOUL
  * DEATH TO ALL PIRATES
  * SOMEONE WHO ISN’T AFRAID OF SHARKS
  * I HAVE MONEY IF YOU’RE WILLING TO DIE



 

Lexa isn’t interested in dying today and after days at sea, has no desire to return to the open ocean. Flexing her knees at the feeling of solid ground, Lexa shakes off her sea-legs and takes the contract regarding a trusty soul. The instructions say to meet at the Temple of Athena.

 

Two-hundred meters from the posting, Lexa finds its author, a young priestess garbed in a dark blue, hooded robe.

 

“Priestess, my name is Lexa and I saw your message on the board.”

 

“The Great Commander herself?” The priestess turns with a surprised smile. “Strong, courageous, _and_ honest. The gods must have heard my prayers to bring you to me.”

 

Lexa knows her reputation precedes her. Distinguished by her unique armor bearing a red tint and legendary dagger, she is also known as the Great Commander and sought after by both Spartans and Athenians, eager for her to fight on their side for her blade guarantees victory. But today, she will offer herself to the needs of the woman before her.

 

“How can I help?”

 

“I need you to deliver something for me,” the priestess says. Her eyes remain concealed by the brim of the hood, looking down as she speaks. This, Lexa finds both curious and suspicious. Possibly a deception, or, the priestess is tasking her out of discretion in fear punishment or retaliation if her identity is fully known.

 

“A document of the highest importance,” the priestess continues and reaches for parchment, rolled and sealed by a dollop of dark blue wax bearing the Athenian crest: Two inward lions, face-to-face, mane flared like a set of flames. “It contains crucial information relative to the war. I need you to deliver this to the Grand Estate, tonight, _unseen._ ”

 

“Of course,” Lexa replies, taking the parchment and stashes it for safekeeping. “Anything else?” Lexa dips to attempt eye contact, but the priestess further drops her gaze. Lexa’s suspicions rise along with the hairs on her skin. Something doesn’t feel _quite_ right; Lexa will be approaching this job with high caution.

 

The priestess licks her lips and shakes her head. “No, nothing else.” And turns away before Lexa can further study, barely catching a gleam of blonde within the hood as she walks away.

 

While awaiting nightfall to strike, Lexa bides her time in the city market, enjoying a skewer of freshly killed boar followed by a visit to the local blacksmith. After browsing an impressive selection of swords, Lexa forgoes the weaponry for a new pair of knee-high tracks. Fast, light, _and_ waterproof. Athenian workmanship is living up to its name, Lexa will undoubtedly return to Arkadia for future wardrobe upgrades. Further, it also said that Arkadia has the best bathhouses, hot water readily supplied by natural hot springs that skirt the edges of the city. Thus, Lexa spends the remainder of the day soaking away the rough of the seas. While she treasures her gallant vessel that has won her numerous battles, it is, nonetheless, a warship and not built for comfort. Her joints are sore from sleeping on the wooden deck, constantly pitching and rolling depending on Poseidon’s mood.

 

The bathhouse water is perfect, steaming hot, and aromatic oils fill her nostrils, evoking a sense of calm and relaxation. She loves her life as a mercenary, its latitude and freedoms. A life without political binds yet bears its own avenue of respect. And, for now, this is more than satisfactory. Lexa is well aware of her bloodline and its potential entitlements. But, betrayed long ago by the same hand that fed her, she has no interest in reclaiming her heritage any time soon. Sinking, Lexa dunks her head to wash her hair—and thoughts.

 

/

 

Sunset bathes the city in an orange glow, no less enchanting than sunrise at sea, but affords a different appreciation of the motherly lands. Rich green foliage lives in harmony among vast, white pillars of worship. A statue of Artemis, goddess of the hunt towers in the city center, her bow raised and aimed at the sky as if to shoot down the sun to make room for the moon.

 

At civil twilight, Lexa stakes out the Grand Estate on an adjacent hillside peak. Royalty; marble pillars, marble steps, and marble statues, gardens, a fountain. She memorizes the guard patterns before circling the perimeter, twice for good measure— _something_ about that priestess. Currently, circumventing the patrol schedule poses a higher risk, security is tight and there are no gaps. While Lexa can always kill one of the guards at the far end and stash the body in a bush, she opts not to, determined to remain absolutely invisible and chooses her latter option: rooftop.

 

Cushioned by the silence of her new footwear, Lexa makes the leap onto the roof with ease, stealth as the assassin she is. Body low and balanced, she scurries to an open balcony for coverage. Access via balcony is expectedly blocked, so Lexa leaps over the edge and clings to the wall, escaping a round of patrolling eyes before scaling down and across the side of the estate house to a single, open window. She swings her legs in, landing quieter than a cat and scans the premises before making her way down the hallway to her targeted destination. Rounding the corner and into a hearth-lit room, Lexa furrows her brow, confused at the sight for she bestows the same robe from the earlier today.

 

“Priestess?”

 

“Impressive,” she says and turns to unveil her face. “I even told my guards to be on the lookout for you.”

 

Her identity is unmistakable; golden locks accompany irises bluer than an Athenian shield, pale skin softer than the finest northern furs, and beauty said to rival Aphrodite’s. She is Clarke Griffin.

 

“I beg your pardon,” Lexa says and takes a knee. “Princess of Arkadia.”

 

“Oh, for Zeus’ sake.” Clarke waves at Lexa, urging her up. “Chivalrous, but please, the parchment?”

 

Proudly, Lexa returns the parchment to Clarke, who then examines the wax seal. Unbroken and untampered.

 

“Satisfied?” Lexa pronounces.

 

Clarke nods and throws the parchment in the fireplace; Lexa suspects it was blank anyway, a ruse to test her trustworthiness.

 

“Now that I’ve earned your trust, what _is_ it that you need?” Lexa asks.

 

“I need you to kill the Chancellor of Arkadia.”

 

Lexa cocks a brow. “Your mother?”

 

“Gods, no.” Clarke rolls her eyes. “Have you been at sea longer than Kronos dead?”

 

Lexa chuckles, taking a liking to this, princess. Brash and witty.

 

“Charles Pike won the election against my mother weeks ago, though I have reason to believe he forged the ballots. She should have received a second term, I managed the campaign myself. There’s simply no way—the numbers don’t add up. He is a lair, a tyrant, and must be stopped. His “leadership” will amount to the fall of Arkadia alone. I’m doing what’s best for my people and therefore need the best _and_ someone I can trust.”

 

The princess plotting the murder of her own leader. Treason of irreparable cost: death.

 

“And… how certain are you that I won’t simply sell this information,” Lexa teases. “I am a mercenary after all.”

 

Clarke takes two steps forward and to Lexa’s surprise, draws a hidden blade to Lexa’s throat.

 

“Because I’ll kill you—just like I did the last mercenary who betrayed me. Drove a knife straight through his heart.”

 

There’s fire in the Arkadian’s eyes, a spark of ferocity that tells Lexa, Clarke is not bluffing.

 

“If you’re willing to kill, why hire me at all?” Lexa responds smoothly, unaffected by threat of the blade on her jugular.

 

“In addition to being heavily guarded, Pike has eyes and ears everywhere. One of my guards can easily be one of his spies. And since guards never leave my side, it’d be impossible to do it myself. I need someone from the outside.” Clarke raises the dagger and uses the tip to tilt Lexa’s chin up. “What say you, Commander?”

 

Lexa lets a beat of silence pass despite her already-made decision. She’ll do the job, but is thoroughly enjoying their proximity, intent on dragging out the moment just a little bit longer. It’s been months. Alone. At sea. And to break that rut with such royalty is beyond tempting.

 

“To be graced with such beauty is an honor. I’ll do it—in the name of Aphrodite.”

 

Clarke darts an eye at the dropped line, smirking. “Good,” she says and withdraws the blade, then brings her hand up to thumb over Lexa’s cheek. “Because I’d hate to ruin such a pretty face.”

 

Lexa thwarts a victorious smile and eyes flit down to Clarke’s lips. They shimmer with irresistibility, carry the allure of a siren’s song. Lexa gulps. “When do you need it done?”

 

“Tomorrow. Noon.”

 

“Such short notice for such a large job… I may have to ask for payment in advance.”

 

Slowly, Clarke leans forward, dangerously close, and drains the last of Lexa’s resolve. “Take what you need.”

 

Lexa finalizes the deal with a kiss, seals the remainder of the space between them and claims Clarke’s mouth for her own. It draws a moan from Clarke and Lexa dips lower to deepen the kiss, slanting the angle for entry and earns another moan at the first glide of their tongues. Clarke tastes _sweet_ , of fresh spring water from an untouched stream and it makes Lexa thirsty for more. The kisses are full, languid and thorough, and Lexa drinks and drinks. She hardly notices that Clarke is making quick work of her armor, unbuckling the leather straps. Breastplate and shoulder guard fall to the ground. Eager to have Clarke in her arms, Lexa reaches down and hoists her up with little effort, bringing Clarke around her waist.

 

“Gods you’re strong…” Clarke mumbles and bites her lower lips satisfaction, “…be lying if I said I wasn’t thinking about you since this morning. No one told me the Great Commander was such a sight to behold.”

 

“Wait ‘til you see what I can do.”

 

The satin sheets are the softest Lexa has ever felt, until she’s blessed with Clarke’s naked skin. Its warmth and curvature are dizzying. Lexa’s hands and mouth roam to chart the unknown, mapping the Arkadian underneath her. She is flawless and Lexa’s lips drift to take in a pebbled tit, licking at the tip before sucking it whole into her mouth. She cups the other in her hand, relishing the weight in her palm, and thumbs circles rendering both nipples hard and stiff. Clarke’s breasts are perfect, they ought to be sacred, so _full_ and _supple_ that Lexa swears this is where the nectar of the gods derive. It makes her ravenous and Lexa rakes the edges of teeth across and bites down.

 

“Sssss…” Clarke hisses, “Mmm, so good…”

 

Clarke’s body shivers beneath her with legs secured around Lexa’s waist. Clarke has since started to move with an insistent grind, painting a stroke of arousal across her abdomen. Lexa’s already salivating at the thought, but first, she snakes her hand between their bodies, easily navigating through the folds to play at Clarke’s bundle of pleasure and drawing circular patterns to tease Clarke until she’s squirming with beg.

 

“Please, Commander! Fuck me!”

 

Lexa’s fingers are drenched and she resists the urge to bring them to her mouth, instead, sinking knuckle deep into Clarke with one thrust.

 

“Oh, yes!” Clarke moans, arching her body to Lexa’s will.

 

Clarke is _warm_ and _tight_ and its altogether too inviting, sucking Lexa’s fingers in as she begins to thrust, in-and-out and in-and-out. The initial pace is already hard and fast, but Clarke begs for more, driving her hips up to meet Lexa’s movements.  

 

“Harder! Faster!”

 

Without breaking rhythm, Lexa adds a third finger, stretching Clarke wide and deep. Teeth marks blemish Lexa’s neck, which she will sport proudly tomorrow, and slick walls clench tight around her fingers. Clarke is close and Lexa backs her hand with her thigh, pressing the heel of her palm downward that has Clarke marking her like an attack from a lynx. Not long now; Clarke’s body is taut and ready to break.

 

One.

 

Two.

 

“Gods, yes… Yes!”

 

Clarke comes on the third thrust, freezing at the peak of her pleasure and Lexa watches in awe. Time stops, Hermès lends Lexa a second to immortalize the moment—Clarke’s parted lips, shut eyes, craned neck. Lexa presses a kiss into the expose of the column and licks at the thin gleam of sweat. Clarke is just starting to regain reality when Lexa continues with an adamant tongue, charts a direct course south, kissing below the navel until she reaches the apex of Clarke’s thighs, shimmering with need. It calls for Lexa and Clarke spreads herself wide for the Commander.

 

Lexa never anticipated tasting ambrosia, the petals of Clarke’s sex delicate, soft, _delicious_. Lexa takes it all into her mouth, swallows every drop and probes her tongue inside for more, licking at the very source. Clarke twists and wiggles, canting her hips in every direction until Lexa wraps her arms around her thighs to ground her still. Withdrawing from inside, Lexa refocuses her efforts on Clarke’s clit. It’s hot and swollen and twitches on her tongue.

 

Clarke’s moans echo throughout the chambers and Lexa increases the cadence, sucking and flicking her tongue until Clarke is trembling, wild and uncontrolled and bucking in her face until she comes. Evidence of Clarke’s orgasm breaks free, flows down Lexa’s chin while she continues to suck and suck, milking every drop. It’s not until Clarke gives her hair a small tug that Lexa relents. She can easily spend days worshiping Clarke’s body, but for now, crawls to meet Clarke in the eyes.

 

Perhaps it’s the dim of the moon, glow of the dying fireplace, or clear of the night, but the hue of Clarke’s eyes captures Lexa. They are more mesmerizing than the bluest waters Lexa’s witnessed. She fixates on them, vision narrowed like drowning, drawn deep into an underwater tomb and she can’t breathe until Clarke grabs her face and kisses a breath of air into her. Never has Lexa experienced such captivation. Are the gods playing a trick on her? Cupid’s arrow flying amiss. She has bedded many women across Greece but none that have generated such a distinct tightness in her chest. Makes her feel protective of Clarke, yearns to shield her, always.

 

“Will you… stay the night with me?” Clarke asks.

 

“Seeing as I have nowhere to be ‘til noon.” Kiss. “It would be my pleasure,” Lexa replies.

 

Clarke smiles, then kicks to roll them around and pins Lexa’s arms overhead. “I’ll be sure of that.”

 

Mischief flares in the princess’ eyes, a flame that Lexa has stoked into a spiraling whorl, heavy and hungry. Clarke kisses her, rough and hard, while Lexa’s wrists remain bound by Clarke’s hands. The weight of Clarke’s body is firmly pressed on top of her and Lexa chases, sits up to reclaim that tongue but Clarke leans away. Teasing. Playing. Only allowing Lexa small nips and her arousal grows with her frustration.

 

She could easily spin them back around, break free of Clarke’s grasp and reverse their positions but a unique cerulean stare is holding her down. Physically, Clarke is no match for Lexa, both shorter and smaller, yet the sear of her eyes drills Lexa numb. Sets her to stone as if she were battling Medusa. Perhaps Clarke is part god, possesses a fraction of immortality and wields unearthly abilities. She is flawless and Lexa watches in wonderment as Clarke descends, planting wet kisses down her sternum and across her stomach.

 

“Fuck…” Clarke’s tongue traces the grooves that outline Lexa’s abdomen. “Are you sure you’re not cut from the gods themselves?” Clarke murmurs.

 

Lexa ticks her brow. “I was just thinking the same of you.”

 

Perchance they are mere mortals the Fates have smiled upon, blessed with each others’ halves because never has Lexa felt so whole. Clarke’s hands fit perfectly in hers and when Clarke’s mouth meets the center of her sex, Lexa falls completely powerless. She grabs at the mane of blonde between her legs, but Clarke is untamable. A lion devouring her alive.

 

“Clarke!”

 

The _warmth_ of Clarke’s mouth is ungodly; Clarke licking, sucking, and drinking. It has Lexa bucking into her face, core quivering and thighs shaking.

 

Where the moon had sat low on the horizon when Lexa entered, now hangs high in the sky. Casts a flood of white over Arkadia, leaks into the chambers and replaces the orange of the hearth that has since extinguished. It highlights itself across Clarke’s back like a sheet of pure white silk. Silk so smooth that Lexa almost regrets the marks she’s raking—almost—because Clarke is leaving the same trails up-and-down her thighs, their undersides, her stomach. Anywhere within reach.

 

The markings cease when Clarke navigates a hand between and thrusts deep into Lexa.

 

“Clarke…”

 

If Lexa was powerless before then she is now a true slave to the princess, situated at the full of Clarke’s mercy. Mouth and fingers unraveling Lexa thread-by-thread until the final one is reached, strung taunt like a sail seized by a gust of wind. It snaps and Lexa comes undone; pleasure washes over her and Clarke laps at her release like waves at the beach.

 

“Mmm…” Clarke licks her lips. “You taste like wine—sweet and tart.”

 

Smiling, Lexa cups Clarke’s jaw in one hand, “And you, the nectar of the gods,” then urges her up for a kiss, smashing and smothering their essences together between their lips. Lexa sits upright and pulls Clarke to bestride her lap for the night isn’t over. She craves more of Clarke, needs her like water and tips her back for another drink.

 

/

 

Lexa wakes with the Arkadian princess wrapped in her arms. Snug and secure, a cascade of gold splays across her chest. Reaching, Lexa combs through it with her fingers, sweeps the same strands over-and-over as Clarke sleeps, careful not to wake her for she has a face beyond beauty. It would be forsaken to disturb such a peaceful sight. Carefully, Lexa cradles Clarke’s head, shifts it onto the pillow beneath and scoots out of bed. Already, she misses its comforts, the sleek of the satin, the fluff of the feathers, and warmth of the princess.

 

Slowly, she gathers her scattered belongings—undergarments, armor, sword and daggers—dressing and fastening the full gamut before throwing her hood over her eyes and slipping out the window.

 

Lexa finds Pike nestled in the southeastern tower of Fort Jaha, fortified and well guarded as Clarke had mentioned. Clarke had also mentioned an underground cave where the soldiers dumped dead bodies as an access point. This neglected exit will serve as Lexa’s entrance. It is only guarded by a single soldier and Lexa easily sneaks up behind him, lands a kick at the knee before slicing his throat and infiltrates the nucleus of the fort in total silence.

 

She scales the shadows, moves within blind spots until she reaches a topside vantage point. An exposed courtyard where guards eyes are soon to be blinded by the direct sunlight at high noon. That’s when Lexa decides to strike, leaps from the roof and eclipses the sun, for they have no chance. She lands on top of the first unknowing guard, drives her dagger down the base of his spine before releasing it like a chain across the three others. They fall like rag dolls, each blooming a crimson flower of their own as she sidesteps the soundless massacre and proceeds into the tower.

 

Pike is sitting at a desk, an inked quill in hand when she enters with a single knock.

 

“Guards!” Pike stands and yells.

 

Lexa tips her head back outside, “Your guards are… unavailable at the moment.”

 

“A mercenary, who hired you?! I’ll pay you triple the amount.”

 

That is _a lot_ of money, enough drachmae coins to fill her ship’s chest. Hell, that amount will buy her a new ship. Though Lexa claims loyalty to no one, she thinks back to last night. The _look_ in Clarke’s eyes, something special Lexa can’t quite pinpoint; it wasn’t just care and tenderness, but the intensity.

 

“Sorry, but I’ve already made a deal,” Lexa says. Just as she replies, Pike unsheathes a sword and charges at her, screaming a war cry she’s heard a thousand times. Lexa has enough time to roll her eyes, sidesteps her target and drives her dagger through his chest. His eyes bulge in disbelief—they all do—red begins to leak out of him when Lexa yanks the dagger out and awaits his fall. But, instead, he spins in desperation and swings his sword across as he goes down, slicing Lexa across the arm.

 

“Ah! Fucking malaka!” Lexa curses. Although the wound is non-lethal, the cut is deep and will scar. Lexa grunts, disappointed she underestimated Pike in his final breath. She looks to strike again, but he’s dead before he hits the floor.

 

Finished with the job, Lexa takes Pike’s seal from the desk as proof and disappears with the same shadows she entered with. When she arrives back at the Grand Estates, Lexa enters through the main gates only for a guard to hold a spear at her chest.

 

“Step back, mercenary.”

 

“I’m here to see the Princess.”

 

“Ha!” He balks and raises his spear to her face.

 

“Let her through!” Clarke yells and steps between the guards. To Lexa’s surprise, Clarke greets her with a kiss on the cheek. Raises herself on her tiptoes and leaves a small, wet speck that has Lexa smiling, thoughts wandering into the night. Last night. Tonight.

 

Immediately, Clarke’s eyes flit to her arm, it’s still bleeding and though Lexa pays it no mind, Clarke reaches for it. “You’re hurt.”

 

“It’s nothing,” Lexa replies, but Clarke is unsatisfied with her answer. Urges her inside, insistent on treating the wound. Lexa can’t help but bat a victorious look at the guard as she is escorted inside by the princess herself.

 

“Is it done?” Clarke asks while running a warm cloth over Lexa’s arm.

 

“Everything has been taken care of,” Lexa replies and produces the seal she snatched from Pike’s desk.

 

Clarke nods as she methodically cleans, dries, and bandages Lexa’s arm. “Now that Pike is on his way to the Hades, Arkadia’s defenses will be weakened, vulnerable to Spartan invasion while we reorganize and cast votes for another election,” Clarke says. And although Lexa’s already received her payment for the job, Clarke retrieves two pouches of drachmae coins and places the first one on the table between them. “If a conquest battle is to come, can I count on you to fight for us?” Then, Clarke sets the second pouch on the table, it’s bigger, fatter, heavier. “And… if you so choose to fight for us…” Clarke pushes the second pouch closer to Lexa. “This will be only half, a down payment, for the Wolf of Sparta’s head. It will significantly boost Athen’s hold across Greece.”

 

Lexa looks up from the money. There’s no way Clarke can know what she’s asking. Slowly, Lexa takes the first, smaller, pouch while pushing away the second. “If Arkadia is to fall into a conquest battle, you have my sword. However, as for the Wolf of Sparta…” Lexa takes a deep breath, stands to ponder how her past has caught up to her in such a twisted way, snagged in the thicket of thorny weeds. Surely all of this is to amuse the Fates. “I cannot make any promises regarding his head.”

 

“Why so modest?” Clarke asks, standing and peers at Lexa with piqued curiosity.

 

Secrets can only remain buried for so long and Lexa has told no one, not even her most trusted Lieutenants, Anya and Indra, with whom she’s sailed and commanded for years. But here, now, before the eyes of the Clarke, it’s as if a star fell from the sky and breached all of Lexa’s walls in a single strike. Stone pulverized to dust. Her defenses are down and the truth pours from her. And once the words leave her mouth, it cannot guarantee her livelihood.  

 

“Because, the Wolf of Sparta is my father.”

 

Lexa expects Clarke to draw another blade to her throat, for she is of Spartan blood. It pumps, dark, red, and thick through her veins. They are mortal enemies and she is in the very heart of enemy territory. She has most certainly subjected herself to imprisonment, torture, or worse, death.

 

But Clarke makes no moves, only furrows her brow, tips her head, and puts her hands under Lexa’s jaw. “I don’t understand—” Clarke says and recites the story; a story Lexa knows all too well. “The Wolf of Sparta killed his children. Threw them off a cliff into Poseidon’s wrath in fear for the Oracle prophesied that one day he would fall to his own blood.”

 

Lexa holds a prolonged blink. “My brother… he was just an infant, I tried to save him. But the waters, the waves, they were too big. I drifted for days—thought I was making my way down the River Styx until a man named Gustus found me washed ashore. Took me in as an orphaned girl. My father doesn’t know I’m alive—no one does. Only you.”

 

A long stretch of silence passes as Lexa studies Clarke, studying her. Clarke is likely deciding how she will use this new piece of information, no doubt a tactical advantage for the Athenians. Lexa might as well have given Arkadia the Wolf’s head.

 

“I’m sorry,” Clarke says.

 

Lexa nods, awaiting sharp steel to embed itself in her heart. Instead, Clarke leans forward and kisses her. Once. Twice. Three times. A flicker of tongue. Again and again. But where is the blade? It never appears, only Clarke’s bare skin as she slips off her tunic. Everything opposite of piercing cold metal; gentle, warm and supple. There are no hidden daggers or vials of poison, just soft skin, and tender touches—belonging touches—that make Lexa feel as if she’s sailed home.   


	2. Moons of Mercenary Past

The summer winds blow full and warm against the sails, starboard tack and all lines taunt. It is the most suitable day for sailing, and normally, Lexa would be perched on the crow's nest to enjoy the endless, sunny, ocean view. Instead, Lexa is inside her quarters, tucked away in the confines of the ship’s hull, sitting at her desk. In her hand, she holds a crest and studies it. It bears the seal of Arkadia’s princess. Royal blue and gold, engraved with a lion’s head, and Lexa runs the pad of her thumb over the etching, over and over.

 

“Show it to any Athenian officer and no harm will come to you,” Clarke had said.

 

The memory lives vividly in Lexa’s mind. How the waves ebbed and flowed in perfect succession as they made love on the beach. It was the evening prior to Lexa’s departure, a full lunar cycle affecting the perfect tide for sail, and Clarke had cornered Lexa by an old pillar, beach-stranded wreckage, and kissed Lexa until she had no choice but to drop to her knees. She recalls very distinctly how Clarke’s skin glowed in the moonlight, so supple and warm as Lexa ran her hands across her body and tongued her center of pleasure. “Lexa…” The moans. “Commander…” The sighs. “By the gods…” The screams.

 

“Must you go?” Clarke asks—begs.

 

Lexa threads her fingers through Clarke’s hair, strands of golden silk, as they lay together in the sand.

 

“Yes. I’ve already extended my stay in Arkadia far longer than intended.” Lexa cradles and kisses Clarke’s lips, saddening with each word. “I have business to tend to in the Pirate Islands. I made a promise. And what good am I if my word means nothing? Then no one will hire me.”

 

“No one needs to hire you. _I’ll_ pay your debts, Lexa.”

 

Lexa sighs at the gesture. “It’s not about the debt—isn’t much. They are my _friends,_ to which I owe my promises.”

 

Clarke pouts and it’s an adorable sight that, if Lexa weren’t already brought to her knees by the Arkadian Princess, it brings her further still.

 

“When will you return?” Clarke asks.

 

“It’s difficult to say… couple of months perhaps.”

 

Unfortunately, that was near five months ago when Lexa departed Arkadia in early spring. Now, her sails are being carried by the late summer winds. Upon Lexa’s return to the Pirate Islands, her friend, Xenia, had a multitude of tasks lined up and while Lexa only agreed to one with her heart set to soon return to Arkadia, the singular task multiplied, sending Lexa on a wild treasure hunt. Xenia provided Lexa a series of poorly drawn maps; Lexa now is at the edge of the world, about to call on the island of Lesbos to complete her final task.

 

_Knock, knock._

Two quick knocks and Lexa already knows who it is. She puts away the seal, tucking it in her armor, closest to her heart. “Anya, come in.”

 

“Land’s in sight Commander, would you like me to ready the lines for docking? Or will you be coming topside?”

 

Lexa shakes her head, once. “Go ahead, prepare the lines. I’ll be up shortly after.”

 

“Yes, Commander.”

 

Lexa expects Anya to leave her be, but instead, her first lieutenant remains standing, clearly expectant of further conversation. Lexa knows what it’ll be about, and she _doesn’t_ want to hear it.

 

“That’ll be all, Anya.”

 

Anya crosses her arms; here we go again.

 

“We’re about to dock in _Lesbos_. Last time we were here—”

 

“—I remember… last time we were here.” The drinking. The brothels. The women.

 

Sighing, Anya takes two strides and sits on her desk, crossing her legs. “Lexa.” Lexa looks up to meet Anya’s gaze. She can see that Anya is now talking to her as her friend and not her lieutenant. “I’m worried about you. Why don’t you come out with us tonight?”

 

“Ahn.” Lexa tilts her head, straining it in clear annoyance. “I do not wish to go out.”

 

Anya playfully kicks the shin of Lexa’s boot with hers and clicks her tongue in a disappointing _tsk_. “Surely, Cupid’s arrow has flown amiss, or that princess has you under some spell. Ten years together and I have _never_ seen you like this.”

 

“Shut up, Anya. Do _not_ accuse her of sorcery. She is nothing but pure intentioned.”

  

Anya quirks her brow. “Pure intentioned or not, you have a duty to fill and quite frankly, you’re doing a shitty job.”

 

The words bite because Lexa knows them to be true. Lexa has steadily declined over the months, leaving almost all shipboard duties to the hands of her officers, Anya taking much of the burden as her first lieutenant.

 

“If you’re here to throw saltwater on an open wound, leave.”

 

Anya sighs, almost apologetically. “Lexa—you know it’s not just me, but the crew is worried about you. I know you can’t ignore that. They’ll be elated if you would at least come out with us tonight, hm?”

 

Lexa glares at Anya, her first lieutenant poking at her weakness. Lexa’s care for her crew and their well-being sits above all else.

 

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon…” Anya continues to nudge Lexa’s shin with her foot like a child. Finally, Lexa stops her by placing a firm hand atop Anya’s boot.

 

“ _One_. Drink.”

 

Anya takes it. “Aye, aye, Commander.” And hops off the desk. “See you topside.”

 

/

 

Admittedly, the ale is good, and Lexa takes a large, second pull from the mug. Crisp and refreshing, it cuts the heavy, humid, air though the sun has long set. Lexa buys the first round for her crew, no doubt catalyzing a night of inebriated sexual encounters as each member begin to disappear with various women and men. Anya is last to leave Lexa’s side, happily escorting two women up a set of stairs.

 

While Lexa only intended for one drink, she decides to stay for another when a band of Spartan soldiers barge into the establishment. The look and smell like the ocean, of brine and sea spray, leather armor dusted in a layer of salt. They crowd the bar, subsequently, crowding Lexa against it and she is unamused. Forcing herself back against a soldier, Lexa stands, downs her drink, and takes two steps out the door when she is recognized by a Spartan officer.

 

“The Great Commander?”

 

Lexa pauses, hand hovering cautiously over the hilt of her sword. She hasn’t done anything as of late that would place a bounty on her head, but, actions of her past keep Lexa high on the list of many.

 

“Woah,” the Spartan takes a step back. “Didn’t mean to startle you. Ares must be smiling upon Sparta, we’re looking for more fighters and a mercenary of your caliber would do us well.”

 

Lexa shakes her head. “Sorry, not interested.” And looks to walk past. He stops her with a hand on her shoulder and Lexa looks at him with threatening eyes. “Touch me again and I’ll kill you.”

 

The soldier removes his hand. “My apologies, Commander. But… this offer comes with the highest rewards of epic statue. Sparta is planning the invasion of Arkadia—its riches will be boundless.”

 

Lexa’s eyes widen and fear strikes her very core. Masking her concern, Lexa further inquiries. “Arkadia, you say?”

 

“Got your attention now? Yes, Arkadia.”

 

Lexa shakes her head. “Arkadia just had a change in leadership, they’re stronger now than ever before. They are well enforced, by land and sea.”

 

“Ah, yes. Which leaves even more for Sparta’s taking. The Wolf of Sparta has made a deal with the neighboring Lakonia. He intends to attack from the south and split the riches with Lakonia. In fact, he’s there now, on the border soon to attack awaiting the remainder of our naval fleet to arrive.”

 

“Malaka…” Lexa curses under her breath.

 

“Sorry? Was that a yes?”

 

“Tell me, what about Achaia to the north and Elis to the west? Surely, they will come to Arkadia’s aid?”

 

The soldier shakes his head. “You’ve been at the edge of the world for too long, Commander. Have you not heard? Our ship’s seized the northern coast of Achaia weeks ago and Elis has been under Spartan territory, a conquest battle was fought two moons ago. Arkadia is surrounded,” he announces proudly, puffing his chest out. “I’ve been responsible for recruiting others from the far reaches to support Spartan’s charge. We’ve since doubled our forces—everyone wants a piece of Arkadia’s riches. Now, tell me mercenary, will you fight for Sparta?”

 

Slowly, Lexa draws a hidden blade in her right hand while she plants her left on the Spartan’s shoulder. “Thank you, soldier, for the information.” And without a sound, Lexa drives her knife into the side of his neck. Blood spills from his mouth as he tries to breathe and Lexa twists the blade to finish him completely. He crumbles against her and she cradles the Spartan down, then drags his body into a nearby bush and stashes it out of sight.

 

Running, Lexa reenters the establishment and rushes upstairs. “Anya!” Lexa bursts through various doors, looking for her first lieutenant, scanning the multitude of naked bodies caught in altering positions. “Anya!” Finally, Lexa finds Anya, surrounded by three women. The two she had initially left with, and a newly added third. Anya’s hands (fingers) are buried.

 

“For the love of Aphrodite…” Lexa murmurs and looks aside. “Anya, gather the crew, we’re setting sail for Arkadia.”

 

“ _What?_ But…” One of the girls is smothering Anya in kisses and Anya has to cheek her away. “But we just got here? What about Xenia’s maps?”

 

As Anya talks, the third woman leaves her side, clearly struck by Lexa’s presence and approaches her. “Oh… I like this one…” She says and reaches to caress Lexa’s cheek. Immediately, Lexa stops her, gently taking a hold of her wrist.

 

“Thank you, but no thank you,” Lexa says, dropping the woman’s hand and shifts her tone back at Anya. “Xenia will have to wait—she’ll understand. Sparta is planning an attack on Arkadia.”

 

“Arkadia?”

 

“Yes. I need you to gather the rest of the crew so we can set sail.”

 

“Ugh…” Anya slumps, disappointed to leave. “Now?”

 

“Well… when you’re… done,” Lexa mutters. “We’ll leave at first light.”

 

/

 

“Your elbow is too high, you’re overcompensating.”

 

“What?” Lexa maintains her tall posture, holding the bow aimed at the ibex and looks at Clarke dubiously. “It is not.”

 

Clarke smirks, leans into Lexa’s ear, licks her lips, and whispers teasingly. “You’re going to miss…”

 

“With you distracting me, perhaps.”

 

They’re ibex hunting in the backlands of Arkadia accessibly only to native Arkadians and Clarke has invited Lexa to hunt with her. And, to Lexa’s surprise, the Arkadian Princess is an impressive shot. Each competing to see who has the cleanest kill, an arrow direct to the head of the ibex, sparing it any pain or suffering.

 

“Oh.” Clarke leans away and quirks her brow. “So, it’s my fault you’re trailing behind me?”

 

“If I should say so—how else am I supposed to concentrate with your incessant bantering? Not to mention that you do possess the finer bow?”

 

It’s true, Clarke’s bow is composed of the finest materials crafted by a famed Athenian bowyer. It’s exceptionally light, perfectly balanced, and of custom design. Contrary to, Lexa uses one looted from another mercenary she killed because she liked the design. Hence, there is some truth in Lexa’s words, though archery has never been her strong suit. Lexa prefers the sword and dagger, close encounters, and hand-to-hand combat.  

 

“So, not only do you blame me, but further blame your equipment for your lack of skill?”

 

“Please,” Lexa eyes Clarke up and down, garbed in a similar two-piece leather hunting outfit, and Lexa dreams of nightfall when she’s sure to devour Clarke, naked and under the stars. “I lack no skill.”

 

“Mm…” Clarke bites her lower lip and Lexa is seconds away from taking Clarke up against a tree. “Prove it.”

 

There’s no one around; they’ve been alone for days when the Athenian guards escorted them into the deep of the backwoods and Clarke told them to leave. While hesitant, the guards did as instructed by the princess. Then, Clarke led them further and they made camp at the foot of a waterfall where they spent the remainder of the day swimming, kissing, and touching. Unsurprisingly, Clarke’s knowledge of Arkadia’s unmarked lands is vast and Lexa finds herself delightfully lost, blindly following Clarke through the trees.

 

Slowly, Lexa lowers the bow and leans in to put her lips on Clarke, who smiles into the kiss, curling her hand at the base of Lexa’s neck. The springtime flowers are beginning to bloom, vibrant pink and white, the foliage, thick and green. Rays of perfect sunlight scatter the dense forest floor and Lexa thinks of the Elysian Fields. Surely it must look no different than this. Lexa drops her bow to find purchase on Clarke’s waist before letting them roam across her back and down her thighs. They chase tongues; Clarke’s kisses have become so warm and familiar, resulting in an overwhelming fullness in Lexa’s chest she can’t label.

 

While gripping Clarke’s ass, Lexa lifts Clarke up and does exactly what she was fantasizing; she presses Clarke against the nearest tree and kisses her senseless. Soon, the kisses aren’t enough, and Lexa is grinding into Clarke’s core with her bare abdomen, smearing Clarke’s arousal. Clarke whimpers and moans and it sounds so deliciously sweet.

 

Lexa drops her hand between them, disappearing at the apex of Clarke’s legs and brushes her fingertips against molten heat.

 

“Oh, Lexa…” Clarke’s grip tightens around Lexa’s shoulders.

 

Lexa makes several superficial strokes before sinking in, slow and deep, watching as Clarke drops her head back and lets out a long, long moan. Clarke is so warm and so wet, fluttering around Lexa’s fingers. Gradually, Lexa starts an even rhythm, pumping in and out. In the distance, the ibex graze, birds chirp, and stream flows. Total tranquility. And Lexa knows she holds the love of her life in her hands—at her fingertips. She quickens her pace while sealing Clarke’s lips with hers, swallowing another moan until Clarke rips away for air. Everything tightens and Lexa stares in pure wonderment, watching Clarke reach peak pleasure.

 

The Elysian Fields do exist. And it’s not a place but a person.

 

“I love you,” Lexa whispers.

 

Clarke’s eyes dart to meet Lexa’s, unbelieving. Then, Clarke cradles Lexa’s face, smiles and kisses her. “I love you, too.”

 

They kiss for a long time, lazy and unhurried, and Lexa knows she will cherish these memories until her last mortal breath. They slow to rest, alternating between kissing and caressing each other’s faces. Clarke is particularly fond of Lexa’s hair and runs her fingers into Lexa’s loose braids.

 

“You know…” Clarke murmurs, voice husky, raspy, satisfied. “When I said, ‘prove it’ I meant we switch bows.”

 

Lexa laughs—how Clarke makes her laugh, jolly and full.

 

“Mm—” Clarke cups Lexa’s face. “You have such a wonderful smile. I don’t think I would ever tire of it.”

 

“I know I will never tire of yours.”

 

“Is that so? That’s quite the knowledge.”

 

Hundreds—thousands even—have probably pledged their love for the princess, and Lexa isn’t sure how much hers is worth. Though Clarke knows the truth about her, Lexa has long since rejected her bloodline and at the end of the day, she is a simple sell-sword. Servant to her trade as a mercenary.

 

“Hm…” Lexa contemplates her reply. “For what it’s worth to you—your Grace.”

 

Clarke rolls her eyes. “Don’t call me that.” She twiddles with one of Lexa’s smaller braids, curling it into her fingers before letting it fall, and then again. “Lexa, I— you know what it _could_ be worth. You understand we could end this war if we were to—” Clarke skips a breath, hesitant. “If we were to… rule together?”

 

The words hit Lexa like a heavy blunt to the gut. A dense, intolerable mixture of feelings and Lexa is torn. She wants to give Clarke the world, and evidently, Clarke is giving it to her. But the thought of facing her past—her father—it strikes Lexa down and paralyzes her very core. The night her father threw Lexa and her infant brother off the cliff. The rain. The lightning. The icy sting of the water. While Lexa doesn’t fear death, her childhood memories stir irrationally. It cripples her and panic instills.

 

“Clarke I—” Lexa shakes her head, speechless and stumbles in thought. Her insides grow sour and she wants to vomit.

 

“Hey… ssshhhh…” Clarke cups her face and plants a kiss at the corner of Lexa’s mouth. “I’m sorry I upset you.”

 

Lexa understands why Clarke asked and is surprised she didn’t ask sooner. Lexa has seen firsthand how much Clarke cares about her people, frequently traveling outside the city to the farms and villages bearing food and medical supplies. She visits the schools to spend time with the youth and invests even more time with politicians, seeking avenues to end the war. If Lexa took her rightful place as the Wolf’s daughter, she could usurp his dictatorship, then Sparta would have no choice but to bow down to her for blood-is-blood and no Spartan would hesitate to follow her. She could march them directly to Hades if she willed.

 

Lexa’s continued silence causes Clarke to further apologize. “I’m sorry for asking. You know that I have no intent to change who you are—who you choose to be.”

 

“Are you certain about that?” It stings as Lexa says it, questioning Clarke, cautious that Clarke is using her as a pawn in this war. It would be the perfect strategy. Though Clarke has not once lied to her, least not that Lexa is aware.

 

“Lexa… my feelings for you are separate from my duties. I promise you. I just—I had to ask, to at least know whether or not that’s something you’d do?”

 

/

 

Back then, Lexa’s answer was no. But now, as her heart fills with fear that she might never see Clarke again, she regrets her decision. Lexa should have said yes instead of going on a childish treasure hunt, face her past by returning to Sparta and confront her father.

 

The journey back to Arkadia has been long; Poseidon has not been kind. First, a storm sent them days in the wrong direction followed by a sweltering late summer’s spell that lasted a week. The winds abated, leaving the vessel dead in the water and although the crew took up oars, their speed was no match for full sails. And when the winds returned, with Spartan and Athenian naval forces fully engaged, the pirates ran amuck. Lexa wasted precious time fighting off pirate vessel after vessel. Lexa could not get back to Arkadia fast enough.

 

Finally, in a mid-autumn downpour, Lexa reaches the shores of Arkadia. The city is on fire, smoke and dark clouds swirl the sky; Zeus is angry. Bodies—soldiers and civilians alike—litter the beach. Blood flows freely into the ocean, making for a crimson tide. Lexa’s worst fears have materialized and she burdens the blame.

 

Hopping onto the beach, Lexa breaks for the grand estate. _Clarke._

The streets, homes, and establishments are deserted, a stark contrast from Lexa’s memory when she first arrived in Arkadia. When the markets were opulent with citizens browsing stands of fresh fruit and vegetables. Children playing in the open. Travelers, traveling, farmers farming, and builders building. Now, Lexa sprints past death and rubble, burning fields and rotting livestock.

 

Although Lexa is no stranger to the sight of war, and, in the past, has directly contributed to such surroundings, her love for Clarke has changed her outlook wholly. It doesn’t feel good anymore: watching a city burn and pillage its spoils. Lexa thinks of all the work she witnessed Clarke invest in Arkadia only after a few months. Actions that veered far from the common assumption of a “princess.” Clarke didn’t sit around in leisure calling on servant after servant, but the opposite, and sat in on council and war meetings, speaking for the people. Even after Clarke was told by elders that the war table had nothing to do with her, Clarke threatened to withdraw her family funds—their investment—in Arkadia, then she would gladly leave the table. It shut everyone up in an instant and no one questioned Clarke again.

 

Lexa’s feet pad along the wet cobblestone, a stream of rain-washed blood runs parallel to her as she closes in on the grand estate. Ahead, on the hill, it appears vacant. Abandoned. And Lexa’s stomach churns in anxiety. There are no guards, the gates are open, but at least it’s intact and isn’t aflame. She sprints inside through the front doors, fearful of the reality. There is no one here.

 

“Clarke! Clarke!” Lexa knows it’s futile but continues to call for Clarke. Up the stairs and into Clarke’s room and when she opens the door, nothing. Pure emptiness. The estate has been ransacked; all riches gone. Despite the pilfering, there is a single positive. There’s no blood and there are no bodies. She continues to scan the room, Clarke’s desk and draws in search of _something_. A clue. More nothing. Empty parchments and previous correspondence. Lexa picks up an old letter, quickly scanning it for a clue. Nothing. She’s grasping at weak olive branches and crumbles the useless parchment in her fist, then slumps onto the armchair in silent defeat.

 

She’s exhausted. Lexa hasn’t had a single good night’s rest since they departed Lesbos, distraught with a cocktail of emotions: worry, regret, anger. She drops her face into her palms, taking in a moment to gather her thoughts. Outside, the rain washes the city down in a smoldering grey, pitter-pattering on along the streets and roofs. Then, in the distance, Lexa hears the distinct trot of a horse. _Click-cluck, click-cluck, click-cluck._ Slowly, she turns her attention out the window and narrows her eyes in the direction of the horse.

 

It’s an Athenian soldier, garbed in light blue armor. He doesn’t look well, hunched over on horseback and gripping his side. As he nears, Lexa can see the blood leaking from his stomach and just before he reaches the gates of the estate, falls from his horse. Lexa doesn’t waste a second, though she doubts there’s much she can do for him medically, he is bound to have information about Clarke.

 

“Soldier! Solider!” Lexa pulls him upright where now, she can see how bad of shape he truly is. His eyes are fogged over, skin pale, and lips blue. Minutes of life left in him.

 

He groans with eyes trying to focus and mutters. “Are they… they here?”

 

“Who?”

 

“Rein—reinforcements…” His breath is ragged, and he coughs up a dribble of blood.

 

Lexa shakes her head. “No, there’s no one else at the docks.”

 

Slowly, his eyelids slip, and Lexa shakes him back into the mortal realm. “Hey! Hey! Where is the princess?”

 

“Safe…”

 

“Safe? Safe where?”

 

“Se—secret.”

 

“What? Please, I’m a friend—” Instead of explaining, Lexa retrieves the princess’ seal. “See? Please. The princess?”

 

His head lolls in the direction he came from, up the hillside and toward the mountains. “Inside… the mountain.”

 

“What do you mean inside the mountain?”

 

He coughs again, and this time, a lot of blood comes up. “Wa—ter.” He coughs. “Water.”

 

It doesn’t make sense to Lexa, he’s in no state to be drinking water. Regardless, she grabs her water-skin and thrusts it in his face. “Here, water, water.” She says.

 

The soldier swats it away, shaking his head.

 

“Ah—malaka,” Lexa curses, watching her freshwater spill. She picks it up from the ground and tries again. “It’s water.”

 

He continues to shake his head _no_ while muttering, “Water… water…”

 

Lexa accepts his actions as delusion. He is seconds from death and she’s seen it before. The hallucinations, sudden bursts of perceived immortality while straddling the world of the living. And, as suspected, the solider begins to convulse.

 

“No, no!” Lexa grips his shoulders; the Underworld is about to receive another soul. “Wait!” His eyelids fall closed, never to reopen. Slowly, Lexa lowers him to the ground. She retrieves a coin from her pouch and places it in this mouth.

 

“For ferryman. In peace may you leave the shore,” she recites. The information he gave is invaluable and he will never know how much it means to Lexa: the knowledge that Clarke is safe.

 

Quickly, Lexa mounts the horse, tugging the reigns to in a 180-degree spin, and with the click of her heels, is off in a full sprint toward the mountains.

 

/

 

Lexa does her best to track the horse’s earlier prints, leading them back into the woods where the sodden ground is easy to follow. But then, as they climb uphill, the soft grass and mud cease, and Lexa reaches hard rock and a series of small streams. Stone and pebble.

 

“Fuck…” Lexa mutters to herself. What did he mean by _in_ the mountain? She slows to a trot, doing her best to track the ground but there’s simply nothing to track. Lexa circles and circles in a generic upward direction, the horse’s hoof falling in the streams of runoff. She thinks back to what the soldier said: Safe and in the mountain. Perhaps there’s a cave? Lexa continues across the rocky foothills, looking for any cavelike entrance without avail. Finally, she reaches the shores of a corrie loch that effectively ends her search. It’s a lake in the mountains formed long ago when the world was frozen. Glaciers, tendrils of icy blue, carved mountains like a blade whittling wood.

 

The rain has slowed to a light mist and as Lexa scans the terrain. She can see all of Arkadia. Portions of the city are black with ash, other parts, still burning and smoking the sky. Lexa hops off the horse, approaching the lapping water to refill her water-skin while her mind races for answers. Gradually, she tips the mouth of the skin into the water, watching it slowly fill. Her eyes shift to study her foggy reflection; she looks like shit. The lack of sleep, worry, and the exhaustion of travel have concentrated into dark circles under her eyes. Her hair is in a single braid, loose and unkempt. Displeased by her own reflection, Lexa looks past the surface and into the water. Past the rocks, weedy plants, and mindlessly studies the murky depths.

 

In the distance, Zeus’ chariot rolls across the sky in a rumble of thunder and a flash of lighting. The light catches a scatter of drachmae coins at the bottom of the lake, they shimmer, round and gold, and realization hits Lexa. The soldier kept mumbling _water_ and without a second thought, Lexa dives in the water and swims down, down, down.

 

She uses the currency as a marker, kicking her feet like a frog in an underwater breaststroke when she reaches the first thermocline and breaches the lake’s bottom layer of cold water. Lexa pauses for her eyes to adjust to the blurred vision and looks around and _there_. She spots a dark, shadowed area; the entrance to an underwater cave. She bursts forward toward it and enters the tunnel.

 

It’s dark and cold, but Lexa is certain this is the right way. The tunnel continues, on and on, past the light of day and into bioluminescent plumes of fungi. Her lungs burn for more oxygen, but she ignores it, pushing on until she’s gritting her teeth to keep from sucking in a gulp of water. Finally, Lexa reaches the end and emerges in a gasp of air. Immediately, there’s a ladder to climb out of the trench and with high anticipation, she reaches for the first rung when she feels a strike to the back of her head and loses consciousness.


	3. Daughter of the Wolf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Super excited to wrap up this Assassin's Creed inspired fic. As a reminder, playing the game and prior knowledge is not necessary at all, but also for those who do play, game spoiler alert! I do borrow from some of the main game themes. Enjoy!

Lexa wakes with a headache that rivals one that commonly accompanies too much ale. It’s beyond throbbing and more like a smith hammering an anvil direct in her skull. A dull, heavy and weighted pain.

 

“Mmphh …” Lexa groans and tries to reach for the back of her head only to find her hands tied behind her back, mouth gagged and chained to the floor. _Great._ This is extremely rare for Lexa; caught and bound. She thinks back to what happened and blames her heart, leaping irrationally at the ladder without checking the premise for danger.

 

Slowly, Lexa focuses her vision to take in her surroundings. It’s torch lit and everything glows orange. All of her weaponry is gone. Sword, bow, daggers—even the one she keeps hidden along the shin of her boot—is thrown in a pile at the far end of the cave. But she can still feel the Athenian crest tucked inside her armor. Several feet away, there is a soldier asleep on a stool and if she can only gain his attention to show him the seal, surely, he’d let her out and bring Lexa to the princess.

 

“Mmm!” She tries to shout and rattles the chains.

 

He grumbles awake, looks at her and ignores her.

 

She rattles the metal links again and instead of ignoring her, the guard gets up this time. Lexa wants to speak, explain to him she’s an ally and tries to emphasize with her eyes and muffled grunts. She thinks she’s successful when he approaches her, anticipating he’ll pull down the gag. But Lexa’s hopes are ruined when he raises his sword and hits Lexa across the brow with the butt end.

 

“Shut up, mercenary.”

 

Her vision blurs, the blow exacerbating the one she took earlier, and Lexa falls to a knee.

 

“Be glad you’re not dead,” he grunts and walks away.

 

Just before losing consciousness, Lexa reminds herself to punch him when this is all over.

 

Faint echoes from the end of the cave wake Lexa this time. Feeling groggy, she can’t tell if hours have passed or minutes and her head now throbs in two places. Unfortunately, Anya and her crew won’t be looking for her; Lexa gave strict instructions to stay aboard and defend the vessel in case of an attack whether it’d be Spartans, Athenians, pirates, or other mercenaries seeking more riches.

 

Lexa shifts an ear toward the cave opening and listens more intently, closing her eyes to better narrow her hearing.  She’s hoping to catch a fraction of Clarke’s voice. It resonates with a unique husk, carries a certain authority but bears an unmistakable kindness and candor.

 

And she does, Lexa catches the tail end of Clarke’s sentence. “What mercenary, _when?_ ”

 

“Clar-mph!” Lexa tries to shout Clarke’s name.

 

As Clarke enters through the tunnelway, escorted by an Athenian officer, her blue eyes bulge in anger the moment she spots Lexa, chained like a wild wolf. She turns to her officer and glares, “You idiot!” And hurries to free Lexa from the shackling.

 

“Lexa! Gods, I’m so sorry.” Clarke kneels and cradles Lexa’s face as she stands, gently removing the gag from Lexa’s mouth, ever apologetic. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” Then, Clarke walks up to both her guards and yells, “ _Imbeciles._ If I weren’t already low on soldiers, I’d have both your heads! My instructions were _specific._ I said to keep a lookout for a mercenary with _my_ seal.”

 

“But, your Grace, we didn’t see a seal on her…”

 

“Did you even look?!”

 

While Clarke is busy berating her soldiers, Lexa involuntarily reaches to touch the painful bruise on the back of her head. There’s dried blood caked in her hair and Lexa follows the gash that travels down to the base of her neck. It will definitely scar.

 

“ _Go_.” Clarke dismisses her guards and as soon as they leave, it takes no time for Clarke to wrap her arms around Lexa.  

 

It feels like coming home; it _is_ coming home. The warmth of Clarke’s embrace, it fills Lexa’s chest and she brings her own arms to hug Clarke.

 

“Thank the gods you’re alright…” Clarke mumbles into Lexa’s neck.

 

“Of course, I’m alright, I—” They part to look at each other and Lexa runs her fingers through Clarke’s hair, it’s so soft and silky. “I’m sorry, I got here as soon as I got word of Sparta’s invasion. I was at the end of the world, I should’ve—”

 

Lexa is interrupted with Clarke’s lips on hers. She can taste the urgency in Clarke’s kiss; Clarke missed her just as much as she missed Clarke. Lexa wants to make love to her right now, hoist her up and spend days worshiping her. Their mouths slant in eager reacquaintance and Clarke is first to sweep her tongue in search of Lexa’s.

 

Clarke tastes better than she remembers; of fresh rainfall direct from the heavens in the sky. Sweet and nurturing. The kiss deepens and it’s as if they’re both breathing air back into each other. Long starved of oxygen and in desperate need. Clarke’s fingers curl at the nape of Lexa’s neck and plays at her baby hairs before trailing up the back of her head.

 

“Ow… sss,” Lexa flinches; Clarke happened to press directly into the blunt force that hit her earlier. 

 

“By the gods.” Clarke yanks Lexa down in an all-too maternal way to better inspect her wound. “Did my soldiers do this to you? Of course, they did this to you—why am I even asking. I swear I _will_ have their heads for this.”

 

“I’m fine, Clarke,” Lexa says, but Clarke continues to mutter in discontent, coddling Lexa’s head.

“I specifically instructed to be on the lookout for _you_. The Commander. And my seal. Apparently, that’s too complex to understand,” Clarke sighs. “I sent the best out for reinforcements, leaving these fools behind. Again, I’m so sorry.

 

“Clarke, stop apologizing, I’m fine.”

 

She _tsks_ , dismissive of Lexa’s words. “This needs to be cleaned before it gets infected.” She runs her fingers through to part Lexa’s hair for further examination. “It’s so close to your spine, do you know what a spinal infection means? Paralysis if not death.”

 

“ _Clarke_.” Lexa reaches for Clarke’s hands, intertwines them while locking eyes. “I’m fine.”

 

Slowly, Clarke nods and takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry, I just—I’ve lost a lot of people and I feared I’d lost you too.”

 

Lexa presses another kiss against Clarke’s lips, a tender brush of reassurance. “I’m here.”

Again, Clarke nods and leans into Lexa for another hug. She holds tight around Lexa’s waist, nuzzles her face in her chest and Lexa rests her chin atop Clarke’s head.

 

“I’m here…” Lexa repeats, idly combing her fingers through Clarke’s hair. Clarke lets out a long breath and sinks into Lexa, relaxing and fully resting her face in against her. As weary as Lexa is, she imagines Clarke must be equally fatigued, if not worse. With the way Arkadia is burning—Clarke’s city on fire—the Arkadians are forced to seek refuge in the mountains. Sleep cannot have been easy for Clarke. She can sense Clarke’s invisible walls quickly falling in this moment; Clarke is safe, and she knows it. And, when Clarke lets out a quiet sob, Lexa welcomes it. The uneven breathing, sniffles, and a single tear. It makes Lexa feel helpless and ultimately, at fault. Had she confronted her past, all of this could have been prevented.

 

Lexa grits her teeth, struck by a mixture of emotions as she listens to Clarke cry.

 

“I’m going to fix this, Clarke. I’m going to fix this _right now._ ” She loosens her grip on Clarke and marches directly to the pile of weapons.

 

“Wait, Lexa, what do you mean?”

 

Focused on a new quest at hand, Lexa disregards Clarke, and one by one rearms herself.

 

“Where are you going?”

 

Dagger, second dagger, third.

 

“You’re going after the Wolf, aren’t you?”

 

Bow, arrows.

 

“Lexa, you’re in no shape to fight.”

 

Lexa is midway sheathing her sword when Clarke puts her hand atop the blade.

 

“ _Lexa._ ”

 

Lexa pauses and glances up to meet Clarke’s gaze, her silence serves as guilty admission: _Yes, I’m going after the Wolf of Sparta. I’m going to kill my father._

The gravity of Lexa’s decision sits heavy in the air, stagnant as a summer’s heat, but she cannot bear to see Clarke like this—Clarke and her people. Innocents holed up after a city slaughter, all in the name of Aries. Surely this is Aphrodite’s scheme for retribution, use their love as a means to end this war. And it’s working.

 

“Just—just wait,” Clarke says. “Look, I sent for reinforcements weeks ago and they should be here any day. Wait a few days before your decision is final? I—” Clarke pleads with her eyes. Striking blue eyes filled with love. Love and determination. “—I just got you back.”

 

Lexa finds it impossible to deny Clarke’s words. Slowly, she nods, relaxing her posture as Clarke’s hand slips into hers.

 

/

 

“And… where did you go after that?” Clarke asks as she squeeze-drips a warm cloth of water onto the back of Lexa’s neck. The droplets trickle down her spine, evoking a sense of calm and relaxation.

 

Inside the mountain, an underground river system runs through the caves bringing its inhabitants freshwater and also houses several small pockets of heated water. Isolated spots where the ground is heated by the depths of Hades and form a series of ponds steaming with hot water. Some are no larger than a hand bowl and others, large enough to fit several people. The latter is where Lexa finds herself. Stripped nude when Clarke said her salt-stained armor smelled worse than a bucket of forgotten dead catch.

 

Lexa doesn’t remember the last time she let someone bathe her, but Clarke _insisted._ Lexa only accepted after Clarke agreed to join her. And now, here they are.

 

“Lesbos…” Lexa answers honestly. She catches the brief flash in Clarke’s eyes that can only be one thing; the stir of jealousy. All of Greece knows what’s on the Isle of Lesbos—why sailors venture to the far corner of the map. Lesbos is notorious for its women, and Lexa quickly follows her answer to alleviate Clarke’s concerns. “—A treasure map brought me there.”

 

“So, treasure hunting?” Clarke arches a brow, “Is that what the sailor’s call it?”

 

Lexa smirks, “Trust me, there was no booty to be found.” And as the words roll from her lips, Lexa’s slides her hands up Clarke’s thighs, reaching underwater and pulling Clarke in a straddle across her lap.

Clarke moves easily; leans into Lexa’s grasp before wrapping her arms around Lexa’s strong shoulders.

 

“Mm…” Clarke hums in content, smiling as Lexa guides her into a kiss.

 

The kiss starts slow as they relax into each other’s company. Candles illuminate the alcove, flickering in a soft and warm glow. Clarke smells _wonderful_ , of rosehip petals and rare lavender oils she added to the water. Oils only the wealthiest have access to, it’s proof of the royalty that she is, and Lexa is honored to be sharing it.

 

Clarke’s skin is hot and slippery against Lexa’s touch, the heat from the water and oils mix, rending it smooth and supple. She runs her hands up and down Clarke’s back before cupping one of Clarke’s breasts, thumbing her pad across a nipple and feeling it rise with each pass. It draws soft whimpers from Clarke as she begins to rock on Lexa’s lap.

 

“I’ve missed you,” Clarke murmurs.

 

In response, Lexa continues to kiss her, down Clarke’s neck and across her collar bone until she takes a nipple into her mouth.

 

“Mmm…” Clarke moans, tilting her head back while Lexa begins to suck at the hardened flesh under her tongue. She works her way between both breasts, alternating mouth and hands. Clarke’s movements have progressed to a solid grind, eagerly seeking more contact.  

 

The water ripples and splashes over the rocks as Lexa raises her hips to meet Clarke’s, flexing her abs upwards to create a rhythm for them both. Clarke grinds and grinds until Lexa reaches between them and lightly dips into Clarke, making gentle passes along her folds and stirring at Clarke’s arousal. She continues to play teasingly in smalls circles, watching in awe as Clarke starts to lose patience.

 

“Fuck… stop teasing me…” Clarke says with her hands gripping tighter at Lexa’s shoulders.

 

Lexa smirks, the corners of her mouth pull up in a smug smile and gradually, she lets her fingers sink into Clarke.

 

“Oh, Lex…” Clarke’s body shivers, nails digging to form little crescent moons on Lexa’s skin.

 

It’s been _too_ long and Lexa never wants to be separated from Clarke again. This is how she wants her—in her arms, protecting her, pleasuring her, _with_ her. Always. Lexa finds herself bound to Clarke in an inseparable way, like two elements forged together where one cannot be destroyed without destroying the other. Souls intertwined.

 

Clarke’s insides flutter around her fingers and Lexa starts a slow pump in-and-out of her, rocks Clarke on her lap with each successive thrust. Clarke looks absolutely godly. The combination of steam and sweat that shimmers her skin. And Lexa lands kisses wherever her mouth can afford; the dip in Clarke’s neck, the curve of her shoulder, or rise of her collar bone. Lexa drops her head further down to suck on a nipple, her mouth matching the languid pace of her fingers.

 

“Gods—I swear… Aphrodite sent you… you’re ruining me…” Clarke's words come hitched and strained, staggering at the edge of pleasure.

 

“Are you sure you’re not Aphrodite herself?” Lexa mutters.

 

It had been known to the world that Aphrodite occasionally took human form pursuant of love and lust. She had an interest in both women and men and Lexa wouldn’t be surprised if all of this was a divine rouse. For a god to simply use her, take advantage of her mortality like an expendable pawn in this war. Lexa’s feelings rage for Clarke, so much so that she’d do _anything;_ she’s even prepared to die for Clarke. This abandons everything she’s learned and lived as a mercenary and contrary to, Clarke is ruining her.

 

“Because you’re ruining _me,_ ” Lexa says, snarling as the words leave her mouth. It’s a form of admitting that she has changed—that Clarke has changed her. And she’s not the least bit apologetic about it, not like this. When this is the closest she’ll ever be to the Elysian Fields as a living mortal. With Clarke slumped across her body, at her mercy, whimpering and whining and moaning her name.

 

“Lexa… Lexa… Lexa…”

 

The pace increases with Clarke grinding harder and faster, and Lexa thrusting deeper and deeper. The water now sloshes everywhere. Clarke’s tits bounce deliciously in Lexa’s face, her body tenses in with each stroke and is shaking at the brink of release.

 

“Oh, Lexa!” Clarke comes screaming, burying her face in Lexa’s neck as her hips roll with each successive wave of her orgasm. “Gods…” Clarke’s body quivers as Lexa brings her down, slowly. “No one makes me come like you,” Clarke says, then looks up to meet Lexa in the eyes and cradles her face in both her hands, “I love you so much.”

 

Lexa leans in, planting a kiss on Clarke’s lips. “And I love you.”

 

/

 

Lexa reaches across the bedspread, hands seeking the softness of Clarke’s bare skin. Her palm sweeps up and down, blindly reaching further and further until she realizes that Clarke isn’t there.

 

“Clarke?”

 

Lexa’s eyes blink awake, taking in the surrounding dim light of a few candles. “Clarke?” This is the first night after spending almost a fortnight in the caves that she’s woken up without Clarke pressed tightly against her in some shape or form. Lexa checks the bedspread again, they’re moderate for a princess, very moderate because Clarke is unwilling to take more than what her people need. Another trait of Clarke’s that Lexa has come to learn and love about her; her generosity. That despite being Arkadia’s princess, Clarke wants no special treatment and anything of royalty is shared equally among her people.

 

Feeling around, the sheets are still warm; Clarke didn’t leave too long ago. Silently, Lexa waits a few minutes, expecting to hear movements of Clarke’s return. When Lexa hears nothing, her heart grows in concern. Sickness has been spreading through some of the population, maybe Clarke fell suddenly ill? Worried, Lexa rolls out of the spread and puts on a plain tunic.

 

“Clarke?” Lexa calls out lightly while walking through the small camps of people, weaving through the cave system. It’s intricate, with ladder rungs assembled to access various levels and sections. For instance, provisions are stored in the far west corner, sleeping quarters along the north and east, and medical in the south. That’s where Lexa is headed now, suspicious if Clarke isn’t feeling well. Although, does Clarke spends an unorthodox amount of time in the medical bay, routinely aiding the doctors to tend to any of her soldiers that make it back to camp.

 

Upon entering, there are more coughs and sniffles than a few days earlier. And there, at the forefront, Lexa spots Clarke hovered over a small girl and Clarke is crying. It doesn’t take much to deduce the scene, the little girl likely passed away from sickness. Phoebe was her name, Lexa sadly recalls. An orphaned girl who was running around camp a few days earlier, wielding a wooden sword and enamored in the presence of Lexa—a real mercenary.

 

“I want to fight like you when I grow up!” Phoebe had said, waving the sword around in the air. Lexa smiled and humored Phoebe by pulling out her sword and giving Phoebe a few tips.

 

“Hold tightly,” Lexa instructed. “But stay light on your feet—even out your stance,” Lexa said, nudging Phoebe’s toes until the young girl gained better balance. “Good.”

 

The brief memory mangles her insides and it’s worsened by the sight of Clarke; she’s so sad. Tears trace down her pretty cheeks, her eyes are red, and shoulders slumped. She looks defeated. So many lives lost; this is the final thread that unravels Clarke. And it breaks Lexa’s heart.

 

Slowly, she approaches Clarke and places her hand on Clarke’s shoulder. Immediately, Clarke’s body falls to her touch, leaning into Lexa and Clarke rests her cheek against the back of Lexa’s hand.

 

After a moment, Clarke inhales a deep breath, “Why? She was so young.” Clarke mutters, staring at the lifeless body.

 

“I wish I knew,” Lexa says. “A question better fitted for the Fates, perhaps?” She kneels before Phoebe’s body and draws the covers over. “Thanatos is with her now,” Lexa recites the common belief. “He’ll ensure safe journey on her travels to the Fields.”

 

Clarke shakes her head. “I just don’t understand it. She was fine just a few days ago. This… sickness that’s been going around, it seems to be affecting the weak, primarily the young, elderly, and soldiers who were on the course of recovery,” she says, then reaches for the water skin.

 

Suddenly, the thought comes to Lexa’s mind and she reacts before thinking, stopping the water from reaching Clarke’s mouth before she drinks.

 

“What are you doing, Lexa?”

 

“The water, do you boil it?”

 

“No,” Clarke says, shaking her head. “The water comes fresh from the top of the mountain and into the river that runs through here before reaching town. Our people have always depended on it.”

 

“Tell your people to not drink the water before boiling it.”

 

“What? Why?”

“The Spartans, they must have figured out you’re here, hiding in the mountains and I suspect they’ve been poisoning the water. It’ll take out the weak first, lessen your numbers as they plan an attack.”

 

Realization, acceptance, and ultimately, admission to defeat surfaces in Clarke’s eyes. “Then Arkadia is doomed.”

 

“What? What do you mean? What about the reinforcements you called for Clarke?”

 

“I received word that they’re not coming…”

 

“When?”

 

“Two days ago—our allies are too busy defending their own lands and cannot offer any aid.”

 

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

 

Lexa asks why, but already knows the answer the moment Clarke looks at her. Lexa has been impatient since she arrived in the caves, itching to go after the Wolf of Sparta to end this war. Or at least die trying.

 

“I just wanted a few more days with you,” Clarke says. “Must you go?”

 

“There’s no alternative, Clarke. Otherwise, you and your people will simply perish in these mountains.”

 

“Then let me gather the last of my soldiers, send them with—”

 

“No.”

 

“What? What do you mean no?”

 

“I will not allow your soldiers to fight for me. I have to do this on my own, Clarke,” Lexa says while holding a dead stare. She knows that as the daughter of the Wolf, the world rests on her shoulders and no one else’s. “And you _have to_ let me.”

 

“Lexa, there’s an ar _my_ out there—I won’t just let you go out there and die.”

 

“If that’s the will of the Fates, then so be it.”

 

Clarke can’t argue with the Fates, and Lexa knows this. It silences Clarke; she doesn’t want to accept it and grinds her jaw in silence, brooding over the inevitable. After a few moments of succumbing to Lexa’s fate, Clarke speaks. “So, this is goodbye then?”

 

Lexa intakes a long breath and cups Clarke’s jaw for a kiss. “For now, my love,” Lexa says, and kisses Clarke again, “for now.”

 

/

 

Outside, the weather hasn’t abated and if anything, has gotten worse. Thunder sounds as if someone has stolen Zeus’s chariot and is riding it amok. The ground is a sodden mush as Lexa rides her way towards Sparta’s beach camp due east. Rain drenches her from head to toe, and already, she misses the comfort of Clarke. Her warmth and embrace.

 

Lexa rides and rides, across Arkadia’s lands, distancing herself from the mountains through the plains where the sky begins to clear into Apollo’s reign. She doesn’t stop to rest, doesn’t stop to eat, just rides until she reaches Sparta’s main camp with red-flagged ships lining the beach and war tents pitched up into the high cliffs. From a distance, it’s easy to spot Wolf’s liar, no doubt at the very top of the cliff, overlooking his army and surrounded by guards. Attacking, especially in broad daylight, is nothing short of suicide. As skilled as Lexa is, there are limitations and challenging over hundreds of Spartan soldiers is one of them. However, Lexa _is_ a mercenary and as far as the Spartans are concerned, she has no allegiance to the Athenians. So, she walks directly to the front gates.

 

“You!” A Spartan guard shouts as soon as he sees Lexa. “Mercenary, stop!”

 

Lexa shows both her hands in a non-threatening gesture. “Soldier, I have no quarrel with you.”

 

“Then what do you want?”

 

“I wish to speak to the Wolf of Sparta, I have valuable information regarding the Arkadia’s princess.”

 

He laughs, skeptical of Lexa’s words. “Lies, mercenary. What could you possibly know?”

 

Lexa then reaches inside the chest of her armor when the soldier draws his sword.

 

“Stop what you’re doing!”

 

“I have proof, if you’ll let me?” Lexa says, hinting with her eyes that she’s not reaching for a weapon.

 

Slowly, he nods, allowing Lexa to retrieve Clarke’s seal and she flashes the princess’ badge before him.

 

“How did you get that?”

 

“I’m only willing to negotiate with the Wolf. I seek payment for what I know, and it’ll most definitely win you the war. Or… I can leave and you can tell the Wolf you turned down a mercenary with such vital information?”

 

His lips twitch as he decides, weighing Lexa’s words. It’s clearly a decision above him when he waves for another soldier, sending him up the hill with Lexa’s message.

 

“The Wolf can decide for himself, mercenary. Wait there, and don’t you dare move from my sight, if you do, I’ll kill you.”

 

Lexa rolls her eyes. The Spartan is beefy, he’s strong but likely slow. Very, very slow and as she waits, she can think of hundreds of ways to kill him. Silently, noisily, a combination thereof. With her dagger or spear or sword. Or, she can disarm him and take his blunt, kill him with his own weapon of choice. By the time Lexa has run out of weapons and is thinking of ways to use her bare hands, a different soldier returns and judging by his armor, a high-ranking officer.

 

“Greetings, mercenary. You may call me Stentor, I am the Wolf’s Second. Any information you have for the Wolf, you can pass to me. I promise you’ll be handsomely rewarded.”

 

Lexa shakes her head. “Sorry. Second or not, I am only willing to speak with the Wolf himself.”

 

“I assure you, your information will be safe with me. Not only am I the Wolf’s Second, but also his adopted son. He took me in when I was a young boy and I’ve trained under him since.”

 

This infuriates Lexa and she wants to drive a knife straight into his chest. Not only did her father rid her and her brother for their bloodline but had the audacity to _adopt_ a son.

 

“Sorry,” Lexa hisses. “Clearly I’m not being taken seriously enough,” she says and turns to pretend to leave.

 

“Wait,” Stentor shouts. And after a short moment of consideration, Stentor ticks his head, gesturing Lexa inside. “Follow me.”

 

Lexa smirks, walking snidely past the front gate guard as she’s escorted into camp. She takes note of potential escape routes, weaknesses in the patrol and gaps in the fencing. Additionally, something else Lexa notices that riles her insides; the grounds are overflowing with plunder. Athenian riches, piles and piles of it from jewelry and pottery to crops and ale. All stolen from Arkadia’s lands—Clarke’s lands and her people. Lexa makes a silent vow to ensure they get everything back. The Spartan soldiers look like hungry stray dogs, feasting mindlessly on the spoils of war.

 

As they approach the top of the cliffside, she can see the Wolf’s silhouette. He wears a fur hide over his shoulders, it’s grey, much like the Wolf himself. And that’s when Lexa realizes just how much he’s _aged._ Her father looks old. Old and tired. He’s pacing with a slight limp and bears more scars than she recalls. Lexa thinks about when her Pater used to spar with her using a wooden sword. She’d be elated when pater would return home early, just before sunset and spend the last moments of daylight with her. They’d play hide and go seek in the cornfields; he’d teach Lexa how to defend herself and keep her footsteps silent. And when he was gone, she’d practice her footwork, staying quiet in the fields until one day, she managed to sneak up on him.

 

“Ha! Got you, Pater!” She’d said and poked her father in the side with her wooden sword.

 

He smiled, approvingly, and patted her head. “Good, Alexandria. Good.”

 

The memory brings a compound of emotions for Lexa and her stomach roils. She feels at a total loss about her role in this mortal world. The Fates puzzle her. The Gods puzzle her. They pull her in various directions—Ares for war, Aphrodite for love, Hestia for family. Which one is it? Yet, each step closer to her father brings her no closer to a resolution.

 

“So, mercenary, what is this… information you have that could win this war?” The Wolf speaks away from her, then turns to look at her. At that moment, the moment they make eye contact, Lexa knows her father recognizes her. His eyes widen in shock and disbelief.

 

“Hello, pater, Lexa says. “It’s been a long time.”

 

The Wolf isn’t alone, several guards flank the edges of the cliff and Stentor himself looks shocked at the realization that he just escorted Wolf’s _daughter._ His offspring. And heir to Sparta.

 

“Impossible. I saw you fall.”

 

“I didn’t fall, you fucking threw me to my death.”

 

“I did what was required of me as a Spartan. I’ve made my peace with that. You need to as well.”

 

“You were my father. You were supposed to protect me.”

 

“You were reckless. You forced my hand.”

 

Lexa snarls. “I was protecting my brother because _you_ wouldn’t.”

 

“The Oracle decreed that he had to die,” he tries to explain himself. “Her word is absolute. You know that!”

 

“You can’t cower behind your sense of duty anymore—”

 

“Enough!” The Wolf exclaims, then turns to look off in the distance. Down the valley and at his army. His accomplishments, pride, and purpose for living. “I can’t change the past, Lexa… I will live and die a Spartan.”

 

Lexa meets her father’s eyes where the corners have gathered more wrinkles. “There’s a large reward for the mercenary that can collect the Wolf’s head.”

 

“Is that why you’re here?”

 

“No. I’m here for peace. Between the Spartans and the Athenians.”

 

“Ha,” he exhales an amused laugh. “Lexa look around you,” and gestures at his surrounding militia. “This is the kingdom I’ve built, to leave now and my own men would murder me. Can’t you see? I have nothing else, Alexandria. This is my duty.”

 

Angry, Lexa grabs her father by the armor and forces him backward. “Duty won’t save you from the ghosts of your past. Now you will answer to me! I’m going to watch the light fade from your eyes as you die by my hand.”

 

Behind her, she anticipates Stentor’s attack but her father waves him off. “No, Stentor.” Then he looks back at her, inviting death by her hands because he knows, he deserves it.

 

Conflicted about her father, Lexa releases her grip. He is but a man trying to do the right thing. Trying to be a good Spartan and abide by the Fates through the words of the Oracle. Still, knowing this now doesn’t change the past. And it certainly won’t change the outcome of this war, with Clarke’s people holed up in the mountain. Duty didn’t stop the Wolf from killing his own children, why would it stop him now?

 

“I loved you and your brother—”

 

Lexa doesn’t want to hear another word and in a split second, she draws her blade and plunges it into her father’s chest. They stand there, together at the pinnacle of the war and it pains Lexa more than ever. She feels the familiar warm ooze of blood spill down the blade, wishing for time to pass faster, for this moment to end.

 

Then, her father manages a few strangled words. “You… you were never truly mine.”

 

Stunned, Lexa withdraws the dagger as her father drops to his knees.

 

“What do you mean?” Lexa asks.

 

“This is something you… ugh… need to ask your mother.”

 

“My mother? You mean she’s still alive?”

 

He coughs with thick chunks of blood spill from his mouth and in less than a second, his eyes glaze over and her father his gone. Behind her, Stentor is seconds behind, screaming a war cry that’s too late to save the Wolf.

 

“No!” Stentor clamors with a sword raised high above his head.

 

Quickly, Lexa turns and blocks his attack with her dagger overhead, then reaches for her sword with the opposite hand, managing to hit him with the blunt end while withdrawing.

 

Stentor tumbles back, “What have you done?”

 

“It was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do, but he left me no choice. You don’t know what happened between us in the past. This was my father’s own doing.”

 

“You and your lies can go straight to fucking Hades!” Stentor screams and charges with another attack.

 

This time, Lexa dodges, spins around and kicks him off the edge of the cliff. She doesn’t even wait to watch Stentor’s fall, turning to anticipate an attack from the other Spartan soldiers. Fortunately, most have stood back in silent awe, dumbfounded that both the Wolf and his Second are gone in the blink of an eye.

 

“Is there anyone else?” Lexa challenges.

 

Finally, a Lieutenant steps forward, drawing his sword and to Lexa’s surprise, he pieces the ground with the sword and kneels before it—before Lexa. “My allegiance is to Sparta, to our blood. If you truly are the heir to the Wolf’s throne, then I pledge my allegiance to you.”

 

Slowly, surrounding solders do the same. Draw their swords and kneel, forming a wave of allegiance through camp.

 

///

 

The wind blows cool across the bow and Lexa looks ahead at the endless ocean. She’s standing at the bow with full sails above and Lexa gazes beyond the lands where the sky meets the ocean. Somewhere out there is her mother. And Lexa’s going to find her.

 

Behind her, warm hands wrap around Lexa’s waist and a kiss at the base of her neck. “Poseidon has blessed our voyage,” Clarke murmurs and rests her chin on Lexa’s shoulder.

 

Arkadia is still rebuilding, but with Sparta’s aid through a forged alliance between the two, they are making good progress and for the first time, the responsibilities that Clarke and Lexa have to their people have subsided. It’s also the first opportunity Lexa has had to look for her mother after inheriting Sparta.  

 

“Can I go with you?” Clarke asked.

 

It hadn’t occurred to Lexa that Clarke would sail with her and a broad smile spread across her face. “I’d love for you to come with me.”

 

And now, here they are, together, exploring the world.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! 
> 
> tumblr @thessclexa


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